Catch47
by Jackfan
Summary: JackIrina action, romance, angst. Post Endgame. FINISHED.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: Jack/Irina angst, action, and romance, post Endgame. This was written before the finale (the reason I mention that will be obvious when you read the first chapter). The fic is set in the AU created in "Catch- 22", a short fic previously posted here. If you don't want to read the prequel, all you need to know is that Jack has found out, from Elsa Caplan, that Irina actually did love him when they were married and was extracted against her will and imprisoned for "reprogramming" 20 years ago.  
  
Rating: PG-13, for suggestive situations and violence (graphic against one character).  
  
Disclaimer: The characters are JJ's. The spec about Rambaldi is partially based on a thread at TwoP.  
  
********  
  
Chapter 1  
  
"Evening, Mr. Bristow."  
  
"Evening, Jimmy."  
  
"Double scotch?"  
  
Jack nodded and slid into a seat in the corner of the bar. He didn't need to look around to be able to visualize the scratches in the dark wood, the rows of bottles, the bartender carefully drying the glasses. This particular establishment was a favorite of Jack's. Large enough so that the clientele shifted, and he was never drawn into a conversation with "regulars". Small enough so that Jimmy knew what he wanted, and left him alone once he'd provided it. He had done some of his best thinking here over the years.  
  
It had been a logical place to which to retreat when he had returned from Bainbridge Island. He had had time to reflect on the information Elsa Caplan had given him, to analyze it, dissect it piece by piece, and compare it to his own experience. The inescapable conclusion was that she had told the truth. Irina had loved him. She had protected him, borne him a child, and fought to remain with him. It had made her both extraordinarily effective in her role and a major security risk to the KGB. The question was, what difference did that make to him - them - now?  
  
Moodily he swirled the scotch in his glass and watched it shimmer in the light. Years ago he had come to terms with her stealing state secrets from him. He was many things, but not a hypocrite. He had difficulty faulting her for doing something he had done all his life. It had been the pain and humiliation of believing that she had manipulated him all that time, pretending to return his love while secretly laughing at him ("Jack Bristow was a fool") that had steeped inside him like a slow-acting acid, eating away at his heart. Knowing that she had loved him - yes, he conceded, that knowledge eased the ache. But in its place welled up a deep anger, an even greater sense of betrayal. She had loved him, but had not trusted him with the truth. And her inability to do so had destroyed both their lives 20 years ago.  
  
Irina. Pathologically unable to tell him the truth, then or now. She had sworn that her objective was to rid the world of Sloane so that Sydney could be free. Yet at the first opportunity, she had escaped to him. Jack winced as he thought of the ease with which she had smuggled out the Rambaldi manuscript. He had virtually strip-searched her that night in Panama, and still not found it. Consciously he relaxed his grip on his glass, which had suddenly tightened. Best not to focus on that night in too much detail.  
  
She had been with Sloane for weeks now and not lifted a finger. Just the opposite. Satellite recon showed her actively assisting Sloane escape from the raid in Tuscany. Jack had told Kendall that he could tell if she was lying. He could. That was not the same as knowing when she wasn't telling all the truth. Apparently she had, once more, convinced herself that telling him the whole truth was not an option. Betraying him in the process.  
  
Jack didn't look up as the seats around him were taken. The evening was progressing and the bar was filling up. Deep in thought, he didn't want to risk meeting eyes with the person next to him and being trapped in a polite conversation. It was only when he heard the soft hiss of the voice on his right that his head snapped up, incredulous.  
  
"Evening, Jack. Mind if I join you?"  
  
Sloane. 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2  
  
Sloane. Jack's hand swung instinctively to the center of his back, reaching for his holster, then froze. The unmistakable pressure of a gun barrel pressed into his ribs from the other side.  
  
"Don't be stupid, Jack. Of course I'm not here alone. And before you try to get creative, look slowly over your right shoulder."  
  
Gritting his teeth, Jack glanced to his right, knowing what he would see. Two burly men sat at a table 10 feet away, their hands under the table.  
  
"Why don't you put both hands back on the bar?" purred Sloane. Jack complied, his face impassive, masking his irritation at being caught unawares.  
  
"What can I get you gentlemen to drink?" inquired Jimmy, bustling up to the new arrivals.  
  
"I'll have what my friend here is having," said Sloane, gesturing to Jack's scotch. The Neanderthal on Jack's left grunted something that sounded like 'beer'.  
  
Jimmy looked at Jack curiously. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a friend with him. "Anything else for you, Mr. Bristow?"  
  
"No," said Jack, tersely. "I'm just.fine."  
  
When Jimmy had left, Jack turned to Sloane. "What do you want?" he said coldly.  
  
"Jack, is that any way to greet an old friend? You know that you were my closest associate. The one person that I thought I could trust." The sarcasm in Sloane's voice was unmistakable.  
  
Jack stared at Sloane, struggling to maintain his self-control. "Friend?" Jack began, his voice low and dangerous. "You recruited my daughter to SD-6 behind my back to keep me in line. You murdered her fiancé. You set me up for Emily's murder. You tipped off that psychopath Geiger that I was a double-agent." Jack paused for breath, realizing it was more than a personal hatred. "Friend?" he spat. "You've murdered hundreds, maybe thousands of people on this misbegotten quest. We were friends once, Arvin. About the time you decided to take over the world, I got off."  
  
Sloane remained unfazed by Jack's words. "Friendship is relative in our business, Jack. I could have had you killed months ago, but didn't for old times' sake. Speaking of old times' sake," Arvin smirked, "Irina sends her regards."  
  
"Get on with it, Arvin," snapped Jack, not amused to have Irina's latest betrayal thrown back in his face. "I assume you didn't come here to chat."  
  
"No, you're right. I wanted to congratulate you on your promotion. 'Director' Bristow. Very impressive."  
  
Jack waited in stony silence, trying to suppress the feeling of foreboding generated by Sloane's words.  
  
"Your security clearance was increased with that promotion, of course." Sloane looked at Jack to see if he was following. "I need some.assistance. That you are now in a position to provide."  
  
"Go to hell."  
  
Arvin sighed. "I hope it will be big enough for all of us, Jack. Have you spoken with Sydney lately?" 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3  
  
Jack paled with fury. His muscles bunched involuntarily, then stilled as the gun barrel prodded him again.  
  
"Call her, Jack."   
  
Jack slowly reached a hand into his pocket and pulled out his phone, quick-dialing Sydney's number. On the first ring it was answered. By a male voice. "Let me speak to my daughter," he snarled, infuriated that he hadn't anticipated Sloane's move.   
  
"Dad?" came a familiar voice.  
  
"Sydney!" Jack said with concern. "Where are -," he paused as the line went dead.   
  
"You know how much I care for Sydney, Jack," said Sloane, his expression betraying his words. "I'd hate to see something happen to her."  
  
Jack swallowed and tried to collect his thoughts. Dixon's wife had been brutally murdered just days earlier. With Emily's death still fresh on Sloane's mind, no one was safe. Particularly not the daughter of the man who had ordered the mission. "What do you want?" he asked bleakly.  
  
"I need the genetic code for the 600 year-old flower you collected in Kashmir."  
  
Jack's heart sank. The analysis had taken months and just been completed. He hadn't even been briefed on the results, which were being held under tight security. "I'll go to prison for that," he said, stalling.  
  
"Kendall didn't go to prison for giving the Rambaldi manuscript to Irina."  
  
"That's not the same," said Jack impatiently. "That was an error in judgement, not an outright theft of classified government property... Wait a minute-," said Jack, thunderstruck, "Kendall *gave* the manuscript to Irina?"  
  
Sloane looked smug. "Photographs," he said simply. "Don't ask."  
  
Jack wasn't remotely tempted to ask.   
  
"I don't want you to go to prison, Jack. You can't be nearly as useful to me there." Jack's stomach twisted as he realized that Sloane was planning to manipulate him on a long-term basis. "Besides, you're a lot smarter than Kendall. I'm sure you'll figure something out. You'll hand it off to Irina tomorrow at 11am. She'll call at 10:45 with the location. Once she returns and we've verified the information, we'll release Sydney."  
  
"Not good enough. You get the disk when I get Sydney."  
  
Sloane's reptilian eyes glittered. "I think you may have overestimated your negotiating position, Jack." He waited, relaxed.  
  
"Fine," Jack ground out after a moment's consideration. Sloane was right. He had no leverage. "11am tomorrow."  
  
"You'll understand if I don't stay longer, Jack," said Sloane casually as he stood up. "My friends will keep you company for another 10 minutes or so. Try not to do anything reckless in the meantime."  
  
"Sloane," Jack growled.  
  
Sloane turned back towards Jack.  
  
"If anything happens to her...,"  
  
Sloane smiled thinly. "But you'll make sure it won't, right Jack?"  
  
Jack swore to himself savagely as Sloane left.  
  
Jimmy approached Jack, a slight trace of concern on his face. "Mr. Bristow, has your friend left? He....forgot to settle his bill."  
  
"What a surprise." 


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4  
  
Jack glanced at his watch. 10:40 am. It had been a long night, but he had gotten what he needed. Having considered all the options available to him, Jack had concluded that he had no choice but to hand over the code as long as Sydney was in Sloane's control. Not that the CIA would see it that way, he reminded himself grimly. The disk now rested in his jacket pocket.  
  
Thank goodness for Marshall. The genetic code was held on a secure, standalone computer, housed in a room accessible only by biometric scan. Cameras recorded every movement in the room; a keystroke recorder captured every entry. When Jack had arrived back at the Ops Center, Marshall had still been there, working late. Or playing video games. Sometimes it was difficult to tell.  
  
"Marshall."  
  
"Director Bristow?" Marshall almost jumped out of his chair.  
  
"I need your assistance."  
  
"Of course, I'm not doing anything else right now. Well, that's not exactly true, I'm mapping the memory locations of-,"  
  
"Marshall," interrupted Jack. "We're planning an upcoming mission. We need to download a file off a computer remotely, and leave no record of the file transfer."  
  
"How remote, if you don't mind my asking? Because of course I can do it, but if it's going to be more than 50 feet it will take me a couple of hours, it requires-,"  
  
"30 feet," said Jack, visualizing the distances.  
  
"Direct line of sight? All computers now have infrared ports, most people don't know about them, forget to block them, and you can-,"  
  
Jack ruthlessly cut him off. "Direct line of sight," he confirmed.  
  
Marshall smiled happily and opened up his top drawer, pulling out a small PDA. "Just happen to have what you need right here." Marshall lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Sometimes I beam stuff over to Weiss's computer. Knock knock jokes, that kind of thing. Makes him crazy."  
  
Jack rolled his eyes, took the PDA from Marshall, and left. He had conducted a surprise inspection of the facility's security, much to the chagrin of the night sergeant, entering and checking all secured rooms in the Ops Center complex. He had not, of course, approached the computer with the code, just staying long enough in that particular room for Marshall's PDA to complete the download.  
  
10:44 am. "Director Bristow?" Jack looked up. Vaughn.  
  
"Not now, Vaughn."  
  
"Sir, do you know where Sydney is?"  
  
"I said, NOT NOW, Vaughn." Vaughn left, chastened.  
  
10:49 am. Jack ground his teeth. Irina was being deliberately late to throw him off balance. He had briefly considered putting a tracking mechanism on the disk, but had discarded the idea immediately. It would be the first thing they would check.  
  
10:52 am. The phone rang. Jack forced himself to watch it while it rang 5 times. Two could play this game. On the 5th ring, he answered. "Bristow."  
  
"Fairmont Hotel. Room 452. Walk there."  
  
Irina. 


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5  
  
Jack took the stairs 2 at a time up to the 4th floor of the Fairmont Hotel. Once there, he found himself oddly reluctant to go the last 50 feet. Hesitantly he made his way along the hall until he reached room 452. Looking both ways down the hall to make sure it was clear, he drew his gun. He took a deep breath, and knocked on the door.  
  
The door swung open to reveal Irina, her gun raised, a wary expression on her face. For a moment they stood there frozen, each pointing a gun at the other. Irina watched Jack uncertainly. After what she had done to him in Panama, she wouldn't have blamed him for pulling the trigger.  
  
"Lower your gun, Jack," Irina said evenly, masking her thoughts. "Nothing happens if I don't leave here with the disk." After a moment's consideration, Jack dropped his gun and followed her into the room.  
  
Irina disliked being manipulated. And Sloane's transparent effort to drive a wedge further between her and Jack, insisting that this transfer take place in a hotel room - where the bed was the dominant architectural feature - made her wonder what he had guessed about that night in Panama. What did he hope to gain by twisting the knife in Jack yet again? Or was it just a recreational exercise for him?  
  
Jack intercepted her glance of distaste at the bed, misinterpreting her thoughts. "Don't worry," he sneered, ignoring the stab of pain he felt, "you don't need to f*ck me every time you screw me over."  
  
Irina's hand flew through the air, hitting Jack's face with a resounding slap. "You bastard!" she said with fury, breathing hard, "don't. you. ever. -,"  
  
"What?" said Jack mockingly.  
  
Irina hissed angrily, "You don't know what you're talking about."  
  
"Oh, and why would that be? Perhaps because you can't be bothered to tell me? Did it *slip your mind* that Kendall had offered you the Rambaldi manuscript? Did it not give you just the *tiniest hint* that Sloane was expecting us?" Jack roared.  
  
"I don't have time for this, Jack," replied Irina coldly. "Give me the disk."  
  
Jack grabbed her by the shoulders, oblivious to the gun in her hand, and shook her. "Tell me now! Why didn't you tell me the truth in Panama? Why can't you ever-," he stopped short, catching himself in time.  
  
Irina looked into Jack's eyes, dark with anger, and sighed with exasperation. "I couldn't trust you," she grudgingly replied.  
  
"What?!"  
  
"Come on, Jack. Figure it out. Kendall gave me the manuscript. You agreed to take out the tracking device. It was obvious you were both working for Sloane. I had no choice but to try to do it on my own from the inside."  
  
"So why are you telling me this now? What changed your mind?"  
  
"The passive transmitter," Irina said with irritation. "When we have more time, Jack, we're going to discuss that in a *lot* more detail." Her expression suggested to Jack that that might be a conversation to be avoided. "You never would have injected me with that if you were working for Sloane."  
  
Jack paused, trying to make sense of what she had just told him. "OK, then, why-,"  
  
"Jack. There's no time for this. If I am not out this door with the disk in," Irina glanced at her watch, "2 minutes and 15 seconds, Sloane's going to his backup plan. And that's not good news for Sydney."  
  
Sydney. How could he have forgotten? "Where is she?" he demanded.  
  
"She'll be delivered back to her apartment as soon as we've authenticated the information. She's been sedated. Sloane didn't want to risk having her conscious around him," she finished maliciously.  
  
"What assurances do I have that she'll be returned?"  
  
"None. But Sloane views you as a "resource". He'll honor this deal because he's expecting others."  
  
Jack looked grim. Irina didn't blame him. Silently he removed the disk from his jacket and handed it over. He watched as she removed a small device from her pocket and waved it over the diskette. "Clean. Good decision. Now give me your gun."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I need to make sure you don't have any plans to follow me." As Jack hesitated, Irina snapped, "Let me repeat. Nothing happens with Sydney until I leave this room, Jack." And then, more mildly, "I can't take the risk you'll do something stupid. I want her out of Sloane's custody as much as you do. He's.changed, Jack. And not in a good way."  
  
Jack handed her his gun. "Knife? Backup gun?" Jack scowled at her and removed the offending items from his clothing.  
  
"Sit down on the bed. Hands behind your back." Swiftly Irina secured his hands and tied him to the headboard.  
  
"Is this necessary?"  
  
"Was the passive transmitter? Good-bye, Jack. Housekeeping should be here in a couple of hours." 


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6  
  
For the 20th time in 10 minutes, Jack peered out the window in Sydney's kitchen, hoping to see his daughter dropped off. Absently he rubbed his wrists. He had had to virtually destroy the headboard to free himself. He hoped they charged it to Irina's tab.  
  
He could not make sense of their last meeting. It was clear that Irina was still actively working with and protecting Sloane. And yet her primary concern had been Sydney's return. He thought she had planned her escape. And yet she thought he had set the whole thing up by removing the tracker. She had arranged for the drop in a hotel room, as if to taunt him about Panama. And yet when he called her on it . his hand moved to his cheek, where he thought he could still feel her handprint. He had been so surprised by the stricken look in her eyes, quickly masked, that he had taken the full force of her blow.  
  
And yet. And yet. Jack sighed with frustration. In what was becoming an all too common pattern, Irina Derevko had left him once more, without any explanation.  
  
He looked up as he heard a car pull to a stop outside her house. He was at the front door in three strides, in time to see Sydney being pushed out of the car before it sped away. She looked dazed and disoriented. Tenderly, Jack wrapped an arm around her shoulder and herded her inside.  
  
"Are you okay, sweetheart?"  
  
"Dad? What.where.?"  
  
"Sit down. Let me get you some coffee. You've been sedated, it will take a little while for the drug to wear off."  
  
Jack bustled around the kitchen, competently fixing coffee for them both. By the time it was ready, Sydney's expression was slowly clearing.  
  
"OK, let me try again. What's today?" Sydney asked.  
  
"Thursday, the 24th. It's 1:30pm."  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"Sloane kidnapped you," responded Jack flatly.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"He.thought it might influence me to help him."  
  
"Dad! What did he want?"  
  
"Information," responded Jack shortly.  
  
"And I'm here now," concluded Sydney slowly, "because you gave it to him?"  
  
Jack nodded.  
  
Sydney reached over and put her hand on her father's. She knew what aiding Sloane must have cost him. "Thanks," she said simply.  
  
"You're welcome, sweetheart." Jack smiled briefly, then frowned as he wondered how he'd introduce the next part of the conversation. "Sydney, we need to talk. Sloane's latest tactics have put me in an untenable position. I'm directing the hunt for him. I can't be looking over my shoulder all the time to make sure you're safe." Jack paused and unconsciously ran his hand through his hair. "Sloane made it clear that he was looking forward to my long-term assistance. He won't hesitate to use you to achieve his objectives."  
  
"I can take care of myself, Dad. It won't happen again."  
  
"No, it won't," Jack agreed. "I want you to enter Witness Protection until we've caught Sloane."  
  
Sydney's head snapped up. "No way. You want me to go work as a bank teller somewhere while Sloane is still out there? Not a chance." She glared at Jack.  
  
"Sydney, you have to!" said Jack with exasperation. "Sloane's likely to come back looking for you." Sooner than you think, thought Jack to himself.  
  
"Or what? You'll ground me? I'm 28, Dad. I can make my own decisions."  
  
"Sydney, please," Jack pleaded.  
  
"The discussion's over, Dad," said Sydney angrily. "Nothing you say will change my mind."  
  
Jack recognized the set of Sydney's jaw; he had seen it countless times during her teenage years. "I'm sorry to hear that Sydney," said Jack with resignation, as he discretely depressed a button on his cell phone. A knock sounded at the front door. Sydney opened the door to 3 US Marshals.  
  
"Agent Bristow? We have a detention order in your name."  
  
Sydney looked over at her father, shocked. His face was impassive. "Who signed the order?" she asked the Marshals.  
  
"Director Jonathan D. Bristow." 


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7  
  
Sydney paced angrily in her room at the safe house. She had seen no one since she had been escorted there earlier that afternoon, under guard. She paused again to check the windows and door, then ground her teeth in frustration. She wasn't going anywhere. She heard footsteps approach, and watched the door open to admit her father and Vaughn. Vaughn carried a small suitcase.  
  
Jack turned to say something to the guards, then closed the door and turned back. He was met with a resounding slap. "How dare you?" Sydney seethed. "I am not a child!"  
  
"Sydney!" said Vaughn, shocked. "What are you doing? It was for your own protection."  
  
Jack waved his hand at Vaughn wearily. "It's okay, Vaughn. It's been that kind of day."  
  
"Michael! What are you doing here?"  
  
"For starters, I brought you some clothing," replied Vaughn, handing her the suitcase.  
  
"You didn't have time to pack," Jack added dryly. "I asked Vaughn to collect some of your things." Sydney did not want to contemplate how her father had deduced that Vaughn would know where to find the things she needed.  
  
"Thanks," she said shortly. "But I'm not planning to stay here very long."  
  
"I brought Vaughn here because I might be going away for a while," said Jack, ignoring Sydney's comment. "Beside myself, Agent Vaughn is the only other person that knows your location. People at work think you're taking a much needed break. Francie thinks you're on a business trip. The guards," he gestured to the closed door, "believe you are someone completely different."  
  
"Where are you going?"  
  
"I don't know," replied Jack humorlessly. "Wherever Sloane wants to take me."  
  
Sydney frowned, perplexed. Vaughn opened his mouth then shut it again.  
  
"Sydney, I wasn't completely honest with you earlier." Jack held up his hand to Sydney's muttered 'no kidding.' "I'm still not 100% confident in the security measures at your house. I gave Sloane the information he requested, but in a form he won't be able to use. I encrypted portions of it; the material is complex enough that it may take him several days to realize what happened. When he does-," he paused.  
  
"He'll be furious," Sydney finished, wide-eyed.  
  
Jack nodded. "He'll look for you first; when he can't find you, he'll come for me."  
  
Vaughn interrupted. "I don't understand. What's the point of that?"  
  
Sydney understood. "You're setting yourself up as bait? For Sloane?" she said with concern.  
  
Jack smiled at her reassuringly. "It's not that much of a risk. I'll get Marshall to provide me a transmitter I can activate when I arrive at Sloane's location; a team can then surround us and capture Sloane and your mother at the same time. It won't be too bad."  
  
Vaughn looked sharply at Jack but kept his opinion to himself.  
  
"For this to work, I needed to be 100% confident that you would be safe. 100%, Sydney. Do you understand?"  
  
Sydney nodded slowly. "I'm sorry I.overreacted earlier."  
  
Jack turned to Vaughn. "I have reason to believe that Joint Ops is not secure. I trust Sydney, and I'm trusting you because I have to trust someone else. You'll run the extraction mission." Jack handed Vaughn an envelope. "Here are signed orders directing you to begin monitoring operations once I have gone missing, and to mobilize the necessary resources once I begin transmission. Until I begin transmission you are not to tell anyone what the purpose of the mission is. Do you understand?"  
  
"Yes, sir," said Vaughn. He had some questions, but decided to save them.  
  
"Okay, then, that about wraps it up," said Jack, in a deliberately casual voice. "Sydney, enjoy your vacation." He stood up, looked at Sydney uncertainly, and turned toward the door.  
  
Sydney, used to reading her father's expressions, understood. "Dad."  
  
Jack turned back. In two long strides Sydney had crossed the room and wrapped him in a hug. "Be careful, Dad," she whispered.  
  
Gratefully, Jack hugged her back. "I'll see you in a couple of days," he promised.  
  
**  
  
Jack and Vaughn walked in silence to Jack's car. Once they were inside, Jack turned to Vaughn. "Vaughn. Trust nobody. With Sydney's location. With this mission. Even.Kendall." Jack locked gazes with Vaughn to make sure he understood.  
  
Vaughn nodded. "I have a few questions."  
  
Jack raised an eyebrow. "I thought I was pretty clear."  
  
"Why didn't you cover this off with Devlin?"  
  
Jack shifted uncomfortably. "There's a bit of a problem with the information I exchanged to release Sydney. I'd prefer not to discuss it with Devlin quite yet."  
  
"Oh," replied Vaughn, chewing his lip. "What was the information?"  
  
Jack glanced sideways at Vaughn. "The prison term for being an accessory after the fact to theft of classified government secrets is 1-5 years. Are you sure you want to know?" he asked blandly.  
  
Vaughn paled. "I have another question," he said, hurriedly changing the subject.  
  
"Yes?" Jack sighed.  
  
"Do you know which continent Sloane will take you to?"  
  
"No," said Jack, watching Vaughn.  
  
"You realize it could be at least 4 hours before I could have a team on site if you're outside the US? Maybe longer?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"I see." Vaughn did see. Sloane would be furious, needed information from Jack, and would have multiple hours to try to obtain it. "There were no other options?"  
  
"Do you think Sydney would like to be cooped up in a safe house for the rest of her life?" Jack asked rhetorically. He pulled a second envelope out of his jacket and handed it to Vaughn. "A release order for Sydney. In case.I'm unable to issue one. They tend to be a little bit bureaucratic about releasing prisoners accused of being KGB spies." 


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Jack visited Marshall and was fitted with a transmitter that Jack could activate at will.  Marshall was particularly proud of it.  "We insert the positive terminal in your thumb, and the negative terminal in the tip of your 4th finger.  Touch them together, and you close the circuit and begin transmission.  The longer you keep them together, the better the location fix.  Pull your fingers apart again, and you stop transmitting.  I actually thought of this idea when I was playing-,"

"How long does the circuit need to be connected for you to pinpoint my location?"  Jack interrupted.

"One minute will narrow down the country; five minutes will give us the city; 10 minutes will give us the precise coordinates," said Marshall proudly.  "Say, Director Bristow, what are you planning to-,"

"Thank you, Marshall."

**

"Are you sure you want to go through with this Jack?"

"I think it's our best shot, sir."

"Anyone else in the loop?

"No.  We still don't know who the second mole is."

"You've anticipated all contingencies?"

"I believe so.  We'll find out soon."

"Good luck, Jack."

"Thank you, sir."

**

With everything in place, there was nothing to do but wait.  It wasn't until several days later that, walking back from Jimmy's at night, Jack heard footsteps behind him.  He continued walking at a leisurely pace, forcing himself to relax as he heard the footsteps accelerate and a car swerve around the corner.  Amateurs, he thought to himself with disdain.  Several pairs of arms grabbed him from behind, his nose and mouth were covered with a cloth, and he remembered nothing more.

Consciousness slowly returned as he was rhythmically slapped across his face.  "Wake up!" a male voice grunted.  As the mists slowly cleared from Jack's eyes, he made out the outlines of a small windowless room, with one lone bulb in the ceiling.  Possibly a storage closet of some kind.  He was seated, his hands tied behind him, with 3 people standing in front of him.  Two men…and Irina.  "He's all yours," said the same voice.

Irina nodded curtly.  "Tell Sloane he's awake.  Close the door and wait for me in the hall, but let me know when Sloane's on his way."

Jack watched, silent, as the men exited.  "Where am I?"  Surreptitiously he touched his thumb and 4th finger together.

_"Agent Vaughn," said Marshall with excitement.  "I've got it!"_

"Mexico City, you fool," responded Irina angrily.  "Why did you force Sloane's hand like this?  Surely you knew he'd come after you for the encryption key?  Do you have any idea how angry he was when he found out you'd hidden Sydney away?  What were you thinking?"

Jack shrugged, trying to look unconcerned while cursing inwardly.  He needed to change the subject, divert Irina from her train of thought before she carried it to its natural conclusion.  Looking around at his surroundings, he mocked, "What?  No bed?  Won't the floor be a little uncomfortable for us, sweetheart?" and braced himself.  He was developing quite a knack with the Bristow women.

Irina sucked in her breath in anger and took an involuntary step towards him, then stopped, eyes narrowing.  He was baiting her.  Why?  With a flash of insight, she strode over to the door and opened it.  "Juan!" she shouted, "Come back in here."

Juan appeared in the doorway.

"How difficult was it for you to capture this man?"  

"No problem, senora" replied Juan smugly.  "He never heard us, and we were too strong for him."

Irina studied Jack.  Not a scratch on him.  Hair barely mussed.  "Right," she said sarcastically.  "Bring me the sensor," she snapped.

"We checked him out already.  He wasn't transmitting."

"He wasn't awake."

_"Come onnn," said Marshal.  "Come to Mama."  Vaughn looked at him strangely.  "Mexico!" he said.  "He's in Mexico.  Wait a minute-," he looked in perplexity at the screen.  "He stopped transmitting."_

While Irina waited, she turned back to Jack, who was looking grim.  "Idiot.  You've got to trust me.  Stop trying to force the timing.  I'll give you Sloane – just not yet."

One of the men trotted in with the handheld wand and slowly ran it over Jack.  Nothing happened.  Irina jerked her head for him to leave.

_"Got him again!" said Marshal, in a voice a little more than a squeak._

"I'm guessing your plan is to activate a transmitter, or to have a passive one activate, and try to take us by force."  Jack looked bored, but Irina wasn't fooled.  "Jack, you *must* listen to me," she said urgently.  "You know I want to get Sloane as badly as you.  I could have shot him any time over the past 2 months.  But I didn't."

"Why not?" Jack challenged.  "Did he offer you a better deal?"

Irina gritted her teeth.  "Jack, I don't have time to explain it to you now.  You have to trust me."

"I have to trust YOU?" Jack spat out.  "How many more times do I have to trust YOU? This is not about ME trusting YOU, dammit.  It's about YOU trusting ME.  Just once in your life." 

"That's ridiculous, Jack," hissed Irina.

"Oh, is it?" he asked, eyes flashing.  "I was married to you for 8 years.  I was the father of your daughter.  I loved you," he said bitterly.  "And you still didn't trust me enough to tell me you were in trouble." 

"It was a little more than just 'in trouble', Jack," Irina shot back.  "I was a KGB agent who had used you for years, stolen secrets from your country, and murdered your colleagues.  I'm at a loss to know how I would have started that conversation."

"How about, 'Jack, I've made a mistake'?"

"Mistake?  Is *that* what you'd call it?" she said incredulously, breathing hard.  She laughed harshly.  "Congratulations, Jack.  Probably the understatement of the century."  She caught herself, realizing what she had just admitted.

Irina looked at Jack, and saw both the anger and the pain in his eyes as they bored into hers, demanding the truth.  Their truth.  She steadied herself, knowing that he deserved more.   "Jack, knowing I had betrayed you would have brought you nothing but pain," she said quietly.  "I…loved you too much to do that to you.  I hoped that my 'death' would let you and Sydney move on."

"Lovely.  So instead of just 'betrayal' I got 'death', 'betrayal', and 'wondering for 20 years if you had ever loved me'."

"It wasn't supposed to be that way," she said angrily, stung by his refusal to back down.

"IT WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN IF YOU HAD TRUSTED ME ENOUGH TO TELL ME," Jack shouted.  "If you had trusted me enough to make my own choices."  He looked up at Irina.  "I would have come for you at Muzaffarabad, if I had known," he finished softly.

Irina looked away.  Muzaffarabad.  She suppressed a shudder.  She had buried her family there.  Jack and Sydney.  Laura.  "I'm sorry, Jack," she said wearily.  "My life up until that point hadn't left me inclined to trust someone that much."  She took a deep breath.  "I shouldn't have made the decision for both of us.  I was…wrong."

Irina glanced back at Jack, tied to the chair.  "Go ahead and activate the transmitter, Jack," she said with a sigh.  "I'll head out with Sloane.  Try not to do something this stupid again and give him what he wants.  He'll kill you next time.  Or worse."  She turned and headed toward the door.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

"Irina, wait!"  Jack struggled uselessly against the knots tying him to the chair, frustrated that he couldn't run after her.

"What is it, Jack?" she said, turning back, drained.

"You still haven't told me why you're working with Sloane."

"Jack, I can't," she said sadly.  The loneliness that she had fought, seemingly her entire life, surged through her.  She turned to go. 

"Irina. Trust. me."  Jack's voice, pitched low, pulsed through her.  "Please," he begged.

Irina stood, unmoving, in the doorway, the inner struggle she was waging visible in her eyes.  In truth, she had trusted no man for more than 40 years.  Jack held his breath, then expelled it slowly as she moved back into the room.

"The flower's genetic code gives us a fingerprint.  A fingerprint for a gene that creates cell regeneration at a rate which, in effect, creates immortality.  Sloane believes that when he matches that against the genetic database that we stole a couple of months ago that he will be able to find Rambaldi."

"Rambaldi's alive?!"

"No.  But Sloane believes he is, which is just as good."  Jack looked at her quizzically.  "Sloane has, hidden away, a device which he is planning to bring to Rambaldi.  I need to get access to that device."

"Why?"

Irina hesitated.  "Jack, this isn't the time or the place."  Her glance swept the dim room, Jack still tied to the chair.  "I promise I'll tell you everything.  Just not now.  But it affects Sydney."

"How important is it to Sydney?" Jack asked, eyes narrowed.

Irina opened her mouth, then closed it again.  "More important than you could possibly imagine," she said finally.

"So you need the flower's genetic code to get this device?" Jack queried.

"Yes."

"Then why are you letting me go before I give Sloane the encryption key?"

"Were you planning to give it to him?" she inquired, smiling.

"Of course not," said Jack.  "I didn't know what he was going to use it for.  What are your alternatives if you don't have the code from the flower?"

"There may be…another way to get the thumbprint.  It will take us several months.  And it's a little messy."

"That's too long," said Jack flatly.  "I can't leave Sloane on the run for that much time."  He thought for a while.  "What if I gave Sloane the encryption key?"  Jack looked up at Irina to gauge her reaction.  He watched with interest as her expression shifted from surprise, to relief, to…anguish.

_"Lost him!" said Marshall._

_Vaughn swore behind him.  "Did you narrow his location down any further?"_

_"Mexico City."_

_"Great," said Vaughn sarcastically.  "Someplace nice and small." Vaughn picked up a telephone and asked to be connected to the Mexico station chief.  "This is Agent Michael Vaughn.  I am authorizing a Code Charlie, location Mexico City.  Put a team on standby and wait for the exact destination.  I'm hopping on a plane now.  I'll radio you the coordinates as soon as we have them."_

"No, Jack.  Activate the transmitter." 

"Let me make my own decisions, Irina."

"Jack.  You know you can't just give the encryption key to Sloane.  He'd suspect immediately."

"Of course he would."

"You're suggesting that you would cough it up…realistically?"

"Yes," he said simply.

"Jack.  Give me two more months," she pleaded.

"Two months of Sloane casually murdering people across the globe on his quest.  Two months of my not lifting a finger to stop him so that you can obtain this device.  Two months of Sydney sitting in a room in a safe house somewhere while Sloane tries to find her.  I don't think so." 

"This is what happens when I trust you?" Irina said with exasperation.

"Mr. Sloane is coming, senora," said Juan, poking his head through the door.

"This device is worth it?  To Sydney?"

Irina bit her lip and nodded. 

"Then this is the best option." 

"Jack, there's got to be another way."

"I'm waiting."

Irina sighed with resignation.  "I'll try to get him to use sodium pentothal."

"No," Jack said quickly.  "No pentothal.  I need control.  I can't tell him where Sydney's hidden."  His stomach twisted.  "No electroshock, either, if you can avoid it."

"It's not room service, Jack.  I'll do my best.  Tell me how to activate the transmitter.  In case…," Irina looked away, not meeting his eyes, "you can't.  I'll trigger it as we leave."

"Right.  Thanks," said Jack. Irina stepped over to where he sat and leaned over behind him as he showed her which fingers to place together.  As she bent over him her perfume enveloped him, subconsciously triggering memories of other times, other places.  He closed his eyes and swallowed, opening them to see that she was still standing in front of him, eyes dark, regarding him intently.  

The sound of Sloane's approaching steps snapped her out of her reverie.  Irina met Jack's eyes and grimaced.  "I'm ready," he said softly.  She quickly stepped back and slammed Jack across the jaw with the butt of her gun.  Jack's grunt of pain was audible down the hall.  


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

"Tell me what the encryption code is, Jack.  I don't want to waste anymore time on this," Irina said angrily, as Sloane entered the room.

Sloane paused, taking in the scene.  Irina, gun raised and angry.  Jack, jaw rapidly swelling, shoulders slumped, shaking his head from side to side, trying to clear the stars from his eyes.  "I hope I'm not interrupting another tender reunion?" he said sardonically.  "I gather you haven't made much progress, Irina?"

Irina shook her head in disgust.  "I'm not sure what he's hoping to achieve.  He'll tell us eventually."

Sloane turned his attention to Jack.  "You fool.  How long did you think it would take for us to find that you had encrypted part of the sequence?"  He leaned over and grabbed Jack's face with his hand, forcing Jack to look up at him.  "It's a mistake to underestimate me, Jack," he hissed.  "When we're done with you today, perhaps you'll be more inclined to cooperate next time."  He waved in the doctor who had accompanied him.  "Your patient, doctor.  I want that encryption key.  I need to use him again in the future, so don't put him out of action."

"No permanent damage.  I can use sodium pentothal or methyl phenylidate.  Pentothal will be quick and painless.  Methyl phenylidate will be neither.  What's your preference?"

Sloane turned to Jack, who was regarding him mockingly.  "A little rusty at this, aren't you, Arvin?" Jack taunted. 

"Methyl phenylidate," Sloane snapped.  Nice job, Jack, thought Irina irritably.  I hope you know what you're doing.

The doctor nodded and began to lay out his equipment, hanging IV bags on either side of the chair.   He rolled up both of Jack's sleeves and carefully swabbed his arms.  "Wouldn't want you to get an infection," he smirked.  He inserted the needle in the left arm and started the drip.  "This one," he began conversationally, "is a stimulant.  It heightens the responsiveness of your nerves and will keep you from passing out from the pain.  It gives us the opportunity to achieve much higher pain thresholds."  Jack watched as he turned the wheel on the IV and the fluid began entering his arm.  Professionally, Jack admired his technique.  He was sweating and nothing had happened yet.

The doctor moved over to the right side, and inserted the needle for the second bag into the right arm.  "This one is the methyl phenylidate.  It travels through your bloodstream and attacks nerve endings throughout your body.  I like it because I can rapidly adjust the pain level up or down."  Jack watched him turn the knob to the lowest setting.  Instantly he felt a low buzz throughout his body, as if each individual nerve ending was standing up and being counted.

Jack took a deep breath. He looked up at Irina, standing on the other side of the room, pale and composed.  I hope you know what you're doing, he thought to himself.

Arvin pulled up a chair and made himself comfortable.  "You know, Jack, I *am* a little rusty at this.  Perhaps you can give me some pointers as we go," he sneered.  He turned to the doctor.  "How long?"

"One question, and you can validate the answer he gives so we'll know if he's lying?"  Arvin nodded.  "Two hours on the outside."

Arvin regarded Jack with venom.  "The encryption code, Jack."  

"F*ck you," said Jack, with feeling.

Arvin smiled and leaned back.  "He's all yours, doctor."

_"Marshall, do you have anything for me yet?"_

_"Nothing, Agent Vaughn," radioed back Marshall's perplexed voice.  "I've run diagnostics, and everything's functioning properly.  He's just not transmitting."_

Irina almost passed out several times over the next 3 hours.  She would have left the room, but decided that if Jack had the courage to go through with it, she should at least have the courage to watch.  Arvin, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying himself.  

The doctor stood behind Jack; Jack didn't know when he was going to turn up the drip, and when he was going to turn it down.  When Jack, soaked in sweat, covered in vomit, and twitching uncontrollably, finally broke down and begged him to stop, she wanted to weep.  Instead, she calmly stepped forward and demanded the encryption key.  Haltingly, Jack gave it to her.  She wrote it down and passed it to Sloane, who left the room. 

Irina accompanied the doctor to the door and spoke to him quietly, then returned back to Jack with a syringe and some tape.  He sat slumped in the chair, still twitching, eyes unfocused, breathing ragged.  "Jack," she said, choking back the lump in her throat, "it's over."  She leaned over and taped his fingers together, activating the transmitter.  "I'm injecting a sedative.  It will numb your nerve endings and give them a chance to recover.  You'll pass out soon."

She could see his lips moving, but had to bend over him to hear.  "Realistic enough for you?" he said, with the ghost of a smile.  She stayed with him until the sedative started to take hold, and his breathing became more regular.  Gently squeezing his shoulder, she left the room.


	11. Chapter 11

"Vaughn!"  
  
"Sydney." Vaughn stepped quickly into her room, carrying books and spare clothing.  
  
"Where's my dad?" she said anxiously.  
  
"He said he'd stop up a little later. He's... recovering."  
  
"Oh God. Tell me what happened."  
  
"I'm not really sure what happened, Sydney. He disappeared last night. He had set up a regular contact with me. When he missed it, I knew they had found him. Marshall and I waited for his signal and, sure enough, it came in as planned. But then it just stopped. Before we could narrow it down beyond the city level."  
  
Vaughn started pacing in frustration. "Sydney, I feel like I let him down, but I don't know what else I could have done. I had a team on site, ready to move in, waiting for final coordinates. They came in 3 hours later, just as my plane touched down. When we reached the location, Sloane and your mother were gone. Your father had been tortured, Sydney. He was a real mess."  
  
Sydney bit her lip. "Is he going to be okay?"  
  
"Yes, the doctors think he'll make a quick recovery."  
  
"If he was in such bad shape, how did he activate the transmitter?"  
  
Vaughn remembered finding Jack, slumped in the chair unconscious, his fingers taped together. He had drawn his own conclusions. "You'll have to ask him."  
  
**  
  
For the hundredth time in the last 4 days, Irina's thoughts strayed to Jack. Abandoning him, in the condition he had been in, had taken every ounce of willpower she had possessed. When they had been married, she had always helped him recover from his missions. Now who was making sure he got proper medical care, and didn't shrug it off? Making sure he was getting enough rest? Helping him get back to sleep after he was awoken by nightmares?   
  
No one, Irina realized with pain. She had long ago hardened herself to the realization that no one would be there for her. But the thought of no one being there for Jack ...   
  
Irina knew that she should be grateful that she had been able to leave him alive. Sloane's jubilance at extracting the encryption key from Jack had been short-lived, once Irina informed him that Jack had somehow set off a transmitter. It was the 3rd time in 3 months that Jack had almost snared them; it had taken all of Irina's persuasive talents to prevent Arvin from shooting Jack through the head on their way out of the building.   
  
Once more on the run, Irina had been busy setting up a new base of operations and assisting Sloane with the mapping of the flower's genetic code against their database. Her need to see Jack again was overwhelming, and she would soon need his help. It was time to contact him.  
  
**  
  
Jack sat at his desk, unable to concentrate on the report in front of him. His recovery from Sloane's ministrations had been remarkably rapid, with few physical after effects. With one exception. Gently he probed his jaw, which was still slightly swollen. He wished Irina would learn to pull her punches. Perhaps he should grow a beard.  
  
He was not sleeping well at night, but that was to be expected. He knew from experience that it would take him several weeks to work through whatever subconscious terrors still remained from his ordeal. Scotch helped.  
  
It had been four days since he'd last seen Irina and Sloane, and the lack of sightings or contact was making him uneasy. He'd given Irina everything she had needed, and now was forced to wait while she played out her strategy. Whatever that was. And to try to provide her some air cover in the meantime. Which was remarkably difficult to do when he didn't know what she had in mind. He growled in frustration. The next time he saw her, he would make sure she told him everything, or he would throttle it out of her.  
  
Time was not something Jack had much more of. Jack looked at the draft of his report to Devlin on Mexico City. There were gaping holes in it that he knew would be obvious to any of the analysts who would review it. Marshall and Vaughn were both preparing their mission summaries; Jack could only hope that Marshall would neglect to mention the PDA in his. Jack's unorthodox approach to accessing the classified database, in conjunction with his decision to voluntarily surrender the encryption code, could only be interpreted as a gross breach of national security laws.  
  
Jack acknowledged that part of his frustration was his desire to see Irina again. She owed him an explanation. He owed her an apology. They both owed each other-  
  
His cellphone rang. "Bristow."  
  
"Meet me at the San Matteo pier at 2pm." The phone went dead. 


	12. Chapter 12

The San Matteo pier, up the coast from LA, had been a favorite spot of theirs 20 years ago. An hour north of LA, the rustic wharf was a base for working fishing boats. Seagulls wheeled overhead, undeterred by the fresh ocean breeze. As Jack parked at the pier, he spotted her on the far end, leaning over the railing and looking out to sea. Leather jacket to ward off the cool spring air; jeans to blend in with the surroundings. He felt out of place in his business suit, and left the jacket in the car, loosening his tie as he walked out to her.  
  
From afar she appeared lost in thought, but she turned in greeting as he approached. He caught his breath as he saw her standing there, hair billowing in the wind. Feeling a stab of longing, he quickened his pace to join her.  
  
Irina scanned Jack carefully, checking his recovery, noting the tiredness around the eyes. "How are you feeling?" she asked sympathetically.  
  
"Fine," he said, a little unnerved by her scrutiny. "Except for my jaw, of course," he teased to divert her. "You pack quite a punch."  
  
Irina reached out and feathered his jaw with a gentle caress. "I'm sorry," she said. "You were magnificent."  
  
Jack held his breath, reveling in her touch. "On second thought, there are some other parts that hurt as well."  
  
Irina laughed quietly, but pulled her hand back. "Some other time, Jack. Not here. Not now."  
  
Jack raised an eyebrow.  
  
"I think.we should wait," said Irina. "I don't want you waking up in the morning wondering if I've 'screwed you over'."  
  
"This isn't some kind of payback for those cracks I made, is it?" groaned Jack. "I'm sorry about those."  
  
"No," grinned Irina. "Payback for those comes later. And I promise you you'll recognize it when it happens." She turned more serious. "Jack, we can't just go back to the way we were. We're different people now. We need to learn to trust each other again. That may take a little practice."  
  
"So what does that mean in the meantime? That we're 'going steady'?" growled Jack as he rolled his eyes.  
  
Irina placed her hand over his, which had been resting on the railing. "It wouldn't be such a bad place to start. It's certainly the best offer I've had in 20 years."  
  
They stood there for several minutes together, looking out over the ocean. Each seemed reluctant to break the silence.  
  
Finally Jack cleared his throat. "OK, then. I've got some questions."  
  
"Fire away."  
  
"What are you doing in California?"  
  
"Borrowing a geneticist."  
  
"That's 'borrowing' as in the felony 'borrowing'?"  
  
"Yes. He'll be returned in a couple of days, good as new. We need his help with the genetic mapping."  
  
Jack pondered her reply, and decided it was the FBI's problem.  
  
"Next?"  
  
"If Rambaldi's not alive, how are you going to get a crossmatch between the flower and the genetic database?"  
  
"Some of Rambaldi's descendants would have the same genetic fingerprint. I just need to insert one of their DNA sequences in the database and a match will come up."  
  
"Oh," said Jack, wondering how she had found descendants of Rambaldi.  
  
"Do I get questions?" asked Irina.  
  
"Sure."  
  
"How did you learn about Muzaffarabad?"  
  
"Elsa Caplan was a KGB spy, married to her husband to extract information. She had studied your case file as part of her training."  
  
"Did you debrief her?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Irina looked at him curiously. "What else did you learn?"  
  
Jack shifted uncomfortably and licked his lips, which had suddenly become dry. "That.you loved me," he said, with a hint of challenge in his voice. His heart sank as Irina turned her face away, refusing to meet his eyes. Slowly he disengaged his hand from hers, only to find her reach out to reclaim it. Irina turned her face back to his, her eyes full of tears.  
  
"That was news to you?" she choked.  
  
Numbly he nodded. "Jack-," she began, her voice cracking, then began weeping in earnest. Tenderly her pulled her into an embrace and buried his face in her hair as she ruined his favorite tie. "God I'm so sorry," he heard in a muffled voice. After several moments she pulled away, wiping her eyes.  
  
"My turn?" asked Jack, feeling unaccountably lighter.  
  
Irina nodded.  
  
"Say something in Russian."  
  
Irina cocked her head. "Koe-chto po-russki (Something in Russian)," she teased. "Why do you want to hear me speak Russian?"  
  
"Because," he said, a little embarrassed, "I always imagined Russian would sound beautiful if you spoke it. All those years I studied and practiced Russian, and I didn't realize you spoke it fluently. How you must have laughed," he said self-consciously.  
  
"No. I fantasized about your speaking Russian to me," she sighed. "You have no idea. Even when your accent was *awful*."  
  
"If you're good, maybe I will."  
  
"I'll hold you to that, Bristow," she smiled. "My turn?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Madagascar."  
  
Jack flushed. "Not my best move. I was convinced that you were a threat to Sydney. I had the house booby-trapped, and stopped them just before they went in."  
  
Irina looked at him thoughtfully. "Not very subtle, Jack."  
  
"No," he agreed. "I wasn't thinking very clearly at the time." He left the rest unspoken. Irina gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "My turn, I think." Irina nodded.  
  
"How do you know that Rambaldi is dead?" Jack asked with studied casualness. He watched her out of the corner of his eye.  
  
"Jack! You've been softening me up."  
  
"A little," he smiled guiltily. "But I *did* want to hear you speak Russian. Are you going to tell me?" he prodded.  
  
Irina sighed. "I saw him die when I was quite young."  
  
"Are you sure? How do you know it was Rambaldi?"  
  
Irina hesitated.  
  
Jack turned to her, and saw the uncertainty on her face. "Irina?"  
  
"He was my grandfather, Jack." 


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13  
  
"What?!"  
  
"My grandfather, Sydney's great grandfather."  
  
Jack rocked back on his heels, trying to understand what she had just told him. "But he lived 600 years ago. How could he be your grandfather?"  
  
"He died 40 years ago. When I was 7. He might have lived for almost 600 years, but he was only married for the last 45 of them."  
  
"You and Sydney...are descendants of Rambaldi? Are there others?"  
  
"Yes we are, and yes there are, but to my knowledge, no others with...his unique genetic makeup."  
  
"So it was your DNA that you put into the genetic database."  
  
"Yes."  
  
Pause. "That has a genetic match to the flower?"  
  
"Yes." Irina had decided to let him work through this at his own pace.  
  
Jack swallowed. "How old are you, really?"  
  
"Forgot my birthday already, Jack?" Irina teased.  
  
"Irina!"  
  
"51." Jack relaxed, then realized there was another question to be asked.  
  
"And...your life expectancy?" asked Jack haltingly.  
  
"That, my dear, is the $64,000 question."  
  
"I think," said Jack running his hand through his hair, "that it would be better if you told me the whole story, rather than my trying to guess it."  
  
Irina nodded, looking out over the water, trying to decide where to start. "Jack, how much do you understand about genetics?"  
  
"I assume this is not a birds and the bees conversation?"  
  
Irina smiled, despite herself. "No, Jack, last time I checked your were working on your doctorate in that. I meant real genetics."  
  
Jack shook his head. "Not much," he admitted.  
  
"Human traits are determined by a set of 23 pairs of chromosomes. Each child receives 23 from one parent, 23 from the other. The 46 combined contain the genetic makeup for each individual."  
  
"And?"  
  
"Rambaldi found a way to add a 47th, linked to the "X" chromosome. The chromosome lies dormant, unless triggered. When activated, the chromosome modifies the body's cell regeneration properties, drastically accelerating the rate of cell growth, preventing deterioration of the body's components. Creating the ability to be - immortal. Although, of course, not immortal. You can still die from severe trauma, but the ability to recover is enhanced."  
  
"Rambaldi experimented on himself," guessed Jack.  
  
"Yes. Obviously, the only way to determine whether it would be successful would be - well to actually live it. And Rambaldi couldn't afford to experiment on someone else and have them outlive him before he could document his findings. Once he had stopped aging, of course, he had a different set of problems to worry about."  
  
"Such as?"  
  
"For starters, he had to move every 5-10 years and assume a new identity. He knew that if he failed to age, that awkward questions would start being asked. His friendships were transitory; he had no family. He led a monastic existence, dedicated to science, supported by a few followers. Eventually he became troubled by the implications of what he had done, and paranoid about his work falling into the wrong hands."   
  
"Be careful what you wish for," murmured Jack.  
  
"Exactly. There's a lot more that I won't bore you with. Suffice it to say that, about 40 years ago, lonely and discouraged, he met my grandmother. I'm supposed to be very much like her."  
  
Unable to pass that by, Jack interjected, "Headstrong and too smart for her own good?"  
  
Irina smiled but continued, "He fell in love, despite himself. He knew that there would be problems, but thought he could work them out. He was, of course, a genius, and this was small potatoes compared to solving the problems of the universe. They married and had children - 4 boys, 2 girls. He was happy - the first time he had been truly happy in his life. My grandmother aged, he didn't. He confessed everything to her, begging her to let him modify her genes so they could live together forever."  
  
"And?"  
  
"She refused. She reportedly sat down at her kitchen table, surrounded by all her children, and said, 'Milo, this is my immortality. This is all I need.' Thereby confounding the greatest thinker of all time."  
  
Jack snorted. Perhaps Irina and her grandmother did have a lot in common.  
  
"They argued, but she was adamant. Seeing an unending future without her, immortality suddenly didn't seem like such a great bargain. In despair, he reversed the gene modification so that they could grow old together. When I was 7, he died peacefully with my grandmother by his side."  
  
"How did you learn all this?"  
  
"Besides my grandmother, Rambaldi had told no one. Remember, he was paranoid. But he recognized that one of his children - my mother - had inherited the same gene, and that she had subsequently passed it on to me. He secretly arranged for documents to be delivered to each of us on our 30th birthdays, describing our heritage, and allowing us to choose our own destinies."  
  
"What did your mother choose?" Jack asked cautiously.  
  
Irina paled slightly, looking back out over the ocean.  
  
"Irina?" prodded Jack, concerned.  
  
Irina sighed. "I was 8 when she turned 30. We were not well off. The lawyer arrived, with the letter from my grandfather. She showed it to my father. He...he viewed it as a business opportunity. The next day he journeyed into the city, and came back with the promise of riches. My mother was appalled. She understood the implications. When he came back from celebrating at the bar that night, he found her placing the last of the manuscripts in the fire. He went crazy...he was drunk...he grabbed the poker from the fireplace and beat her...to death."  
  
"Where were you?" Jack asked gently.  
  
"Hiding under my bed. For years afterward I could hear her screams at night." Jack's arm had come up around her shoulder, and she leaned into him. "I was too young to know why they had argued. I only knew that my father had killed my mother. My sister and I went to live with my aunt, and she raised us. I swore I would never be dependent on any man when I grew up."  
  
"Or trust one?" he suggested.  
  
"Or trust one," she agreed softly.  
  
"But you're telling me now," he pointed out.  
  
"You're not just 'any man'," replied Irina, with a glimmer of a smile.  
  
"I know," he said modestly, and ducked as she aimed a swipe at his head. As he straightened up, his phone rang. He reached into his jacket, pulled out the phone, and let out a sigh of irritation when he saw the number.   
  
"Bristow."  
  
"Director Bristow? Jack?" Jack could hear Vaughn's voice on the other end of the line, cracking from strain.  
  
"Sydney?" he demanded.  
  
"No," he heard. "NSA intercepted a secure transmission a couple of hours ago. From Sloane. To you. Thanking you for the code for the 600 year old flower," Jack could hear Vaughn's voice cracking again, "and setting up another meet."  
  
"How did you find this out?"  
  
"I have a friend over at NSA. He thought I'd be interested. It's going through official channels now. Jack-,"  
  
"Vaughn, listen to me. We did not have this conversation. Any other questions they ask, I want you to answer truthfully. Do you understand?"  
  
"Yes, but-,"  
  
"Goodbye, Vaughn. And...thanks."   
  
He looked at Irina. "I'm afraid I need to go. How can I contact you again?"  
  
Quickly Irina gave him a phone number. "Jack -,"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Watch your back. After your last escapade, I think Sloane's written you off as a bad risk. He's looking for a way to take you out of the game."  
  
"I think he's found one," said Jack grimly. His expression lightened as he took in her worried look. Gently brushing her forehead with his lips, he said, "Don't worry, I'll see you again soon. After all, we're going steady." He turned and headed back down the pier. 


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14  
  
Jack drove back from his meeting with Irina, thinking hard. The vindictiveness of Sloane's latest move left him breathless. Sloane, more than anyone else, understood that Jack would rather die than go back to prison. And Sloane would certainly have been thorough. There was no doubt in Jack's mind that additional paper and phone trails had been laid which led back to him.  
  
The timing was important, Jack knew. Sloane must believe he was close. With Jack out of the way, and the Joint Ops Task Force in disarray, or worse yet, misdirected by Kendall, Sloane would have free rein for whatever he planned next.  
  
After several minutes, Jack dialed a number. "It's Jack. I've been compromised. I need," he thought rapidly, "3 passports, $100,000 in cash, and a flight out. And some help with the escape."  
  
**  
  
'Going through channels' usually took time. Jack strode into the Joint Ops center, needing several pieces of information before he left.  
  
He looked up in chagrin just 20 minutes later to see Kendall, a smug expression on his face, standing in his doorway. With 5 armed FBI agents. Jack got to his feet quickly, then stilled as all 5 agents drew their weapons. "What's going on here?" he said coldly. "Kendall, get these men out of my office."   
  
"'Director' Bristow," smirked Kendall, "you're under arrest for treason and theft of classified government secrets. You have the right to remain silent..."  
  
And Jack did. As they handcuffed his hands behind his back. As he watched them search his office, pulling files out of his drawer that he knew he had not placed there. As they perp walked him through the Joint Ops center. As he saw the stunned and disappointed faces - Dixon, Marshall, Weiss, Vaughn. As he was placed in the van and transported to the FBI processing facility where he was fingerprinted and strip searched. As he was escorted to the holding cell.   
  
Jack had been this way before. He had the right to remain silent. And there was nothing to say.  
  
**  
  
"Sloane."  
  
"It went as you expected, Mr. Sloane. Actually, given his past record, even faster. They found the files as well. He's on his way to prison."  
  
"Excellent. I hope he rots there."  
  
**  
  
Sydney heard the guards murmuring outside her door. She was bored, and hoped that Vaughn was coming to visit. To her delight, the door swung open and Vaughn stood there without, she was pleased to see, additional books.   
  
"Is it over?" she asked hopefully.  
  
"Yes, you're officially released," replied Vaughn.  
  
Her pleasure was short-lived as she read the expression on her face.  
  
"Vaughn? What's wrong?"  
  
Vaughn shut the door behind him. "Sit down."  
  
"Dad?" asked Sydney, her heart in her mouth.  
  
Vaughn looked uncomfortable. "Syd, your dad's been arrested and charged with treason."  
  
"That's ridiculous."  
  
Vaughn looked, if anything, more uncomfortable. "The information he traded for your release from Sloane. It was highly classified."  
  
"But he was being blackmailed...," her voice trailed off. She knew the CIA's position on that. As had her father. "He knew the risk he was taking when he handed over the information, didn't he?" she said sadly.  
  
Vaughn nodded. "I think he deliberately didn't tell us what it was so that we wouldn't be implicated."  
  
"I need to see him."  
  
"Sydney, you can't. He's...he's...," Vaughn paused, not sure how to tell her.  
  
"In solitary confinement?" Sydney asked fearfully. "Oh my God, Vaughn. It almost killed him last time." 


	15. Chpater 15

Chapter 15  
  
"Irina, my dear, welcome back. Did you obtain the services of Dr. Randolph?"  
  
"Yes, Arvin," she smiled. "He's making a 'house call' now. We should have the database match in the next 24 hours."  
  
"Excellent. I'm anxious to bring this phase to a close."  
  
"I'll go work on identifying a new operations base. It will not have escaped the CIA's notice that a genetics expert is missing. I'm sure they're going to come looking for him."  
  
"I don't think that that will be necessary," replied Sloane casually. "The Joint Task Force is a little preoccupied right now."  
  
Irina looked at him enquiringly.  
  
"You will be shocked, Irina, *shocked* to learn that Jack Bristow stole the flower's genetic code and passed it on to me. At least the FBI were," said Sloane dryly. "Jack's on his way to prison now. With his past history, he'll be there a while. He's not likely to create any future problems."  
  
Irina's mouth went dry, but 35 years of experience allowed her to respond without tremor, "Brilliant plan, Arvin."   
  
"Yes, I believe it solves a number of problems for us," said Arvin pensively. Including the distraction Bristow might represent to Irina, he thought to himself. "And there's a pleasing symmetry about having him finish his career in prison, I think. A sort of early retirement program," he finished snidely.  
  
Fingers curling into fists behind her back, Irina replied evenly, "I think I'll go check on our geneticist, then." She turned on her heel and rapidly departed, afraid she would murder Sloane with her bare hands.  
  
Once outside his office, Irina leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. Jack.  
  
**  
  
The prison bus rumbled along the bumpy rural road. Head down, Jack did not notice the signs of spring in the fields that spread out on either side of them. He was exhausted. He had been interrogated twice by the FBI during the night. Not that it had been a particularly enjoyable experience for them, either, as he had not responded to any of their questions. Watched by cameras, he had been afraid to fall asleep when they had left, fearful of what he might say during one of his nightmares.   
  
The bus finally pulled into the yard, and 11 men in handcuffs shuffled out. Each, in turn, was ushered into a small room to be searched one more time and to change into a prison jumpsuit under the watchful eye of a prison guard, then sent out with escort to the cellblock.  
  
Jack watched wearily as the line moved slowly. He remembered this from last time. Most of what you did in prison was wait. Wait for breakfast. Wait for work detail. Wait for visitors. Wait to fall asleep. Wait for morning.  
  
The door opened and he slowly made his way into the changing room, and waited for the guard to unlock his handcuffs.  
  
"Here," said the guard gruffly, as he handed Jack his jumpsuit. "Get moving."  
  
The guard turned in surprise as a second door opened, and the warden entered followed by 3 men in suits.  
  
"Johnson."  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"I need you to accompany Mr. Williams to Cellblock C immediately. We have reason to believe that one of our new arrivals has information on a terrorist cell that we urgently need."  
  
"Let me finish with this prisoner, sir, and I'll escort him up immediately."  
  
"I've already requested a replacement for you. I'll remain here to keep an eye on the prisoner until your replacement arrives."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
Jack watched in silence as the guard and Williams left the room, then raised an eyebrow at one of the men accompanying the warden.  
  
"Cutting it a little close, sir," he said to Devlin.  
  
Devlin shrugged apologetically. "More realistic this way." He scanned Jack, noting his rumpled appearance and the fatigue in his eyes. "We're getting a little old for this, Jack," he said, with a trace of a smile on his lips. He turned to the man next to him - in his early 50's, a little over 6 feet tall, with graying hair - and said, "OK, Jamieson. A week at the outside. Sorry about the food."  
  
Jamieson stepped forward and took the jumpsuit from Jack and started to rapidly change. "Won't the FBI pick up the switch as soon as they start to question him?" asked Jack.  
  
The warden smiled. "He won't be available for a little while." Grabbing Jamieson by the arm, he dragged him to the door and leaned out. "This one was busy mouthing off. Give him a week's solitary so he can learn some manners," he said, shoving Jamieson out the door.  
  
"Thanks, Dave. Love to Thelma," said Devlin, shaking the warden's hand.  
  
"No problem, Ben. Happy to help."  
  
**  
  
"Irina?"   
  
"Jack? Where are you?" Irina slumped with relief into her chair, phone to her ear.  
  
"Officially, I now reside at San Quentin. Unofficially, I suddenly have a lot of free time on my hands. Want to go out on a date?" 


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16  
  
The small boat chugged quietly up the Seine, winding its way through the center of Paris. Jack and Irina sat together companionably on the upper deck, watching the evening lights flicker as they floated past. Snatches of music floated up to them, but for the moment they were silent. Jack's arm was around Irina, keeping her warm on the chilly evening.  
  
Irina allowed herself to relax momentarily, blocking out the insistent messages from her brain about plans that needed to be made, preparations completed. She had been to Paris more times than she could count, and never failed to be spellbound by this sight. She sighed. The best of those times had been with Jack, but so long ago that the memory was becoming smudged around the edges. "Beautiful," she breathed softly.  
  
Jack looked over at her. "Yes," he said, not thinking of the lights.  
  
"Jack?"  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"Have I said I'm sorry?"  
  
"Yes."   
  
"I am, you know," she said regretfully, snuggling closer to him.  
  
"Of course," he said suggestively, "you haven't *shown* me how sorry you are."  
  
"Jack!" she said warningly.  
  
"I know, I know," he said with an exaggerated sigh. "Talk first."  
  
Irina smiled. "And I think it's my turn."  
  
"Fire away."  
  
"How did you get here?"  
  
"Plane," Jack smirked.  
  
"Jack! Two people can play that game...,"  
  
"OK, ok. I went to Devlin when Sloane approached me the first time. I worked through everything that might happen, and it was clear that Sloane's end game might be to set me up. I couldn't tell anyone at Joint Ops, given the number of moles, so Devlin was my insurance."  
  
"That phone call you got?"  
  
"Was Vaughn, and it told me that Sloane had played his card. It seemed to make sense to play along - Sloane may take more risks if he thinks he's gotten me out of the way."  
  
"You were in prison once before, weren't you?" said Irina softly.   
  
Jack hesitated. He hadn't discussed his confinement after Irina's departure with anyone. Ever. "Irina, I'm not sure I'm ready...,"  
  
"Jack. Trust me."   
  
Jack was silent, his fingers idly playing with her hair. Irina waited patiently. Jack looked away from her, out over the water. Somehow it felt easier if he didn't meet her eyes. "It was awful," he whispered finally. Gathering himself together he continued, "They came a couple of days after the funeral. I was heartbroken, still in shock. Sydney couldn't leave my side, wouldn't let me out of her sight. They came to the door and arrested me for treason, but wouldn't tell me anything else. Sydney was there as they put on the handcuffs. The social worker held Sydney, screaming, as they took me away."  
  
Jack paused, taking a deep breath to steady himself, oblivious to Irina's gasp of pain. "They told me you were a KGB spy. I told them they were crazy. They told me you had targeted me, used me, never loved me. I told them they were lying. They showed me pictures, surveillance footage, transcripts. I-," he paused again, "I wanted to die."  
  
He bowed his head, reliving it in his mind. Irina held still, knowing that Jack had almost forgotten she was there. "Then they told me they would take Sydney away. I knew I had to live. For the next 6 months I told them every detail of our lives together. Everything was suspect. Nothing was sacred. By the time they were done, there was no memory I had of our 10 years together that wasn't tainted in some way. For years after, I would come to Paris and, instead of remembering the wonderful time we had here, I would wonder if our hotel room had been bugged," he said bleakly.   
  
"It...it wasn't," choked Irina. "Oh, God, Jack-," and she clung to him, tears falling silently in the darkness. "How do we - how can you - ever get past that?" she asked sadly.  
  
Jack thought for a moment. "I think I already have," he said meditatively. "The memory of how it felt then is still painful. A little less so, having shared it," he admitted. "But the real agony of that time was not the tradecraft you practiced. It was the thought that I had given myself to you so whole-heartedly, and you hadn't loved me back. That it had been just a job for you. Knowing what I know now," he shrugged, "makes it easier."  
  
"Jack-,"  
  
"Irina," he interrupted. "I can't dwell on it. I've had 20 years of regrets. That's enough for a lifetime."  
  
"For two lifetimes."   
  
"I'd rather," he looked at her hesitantly, "make new memories."  
  
Irina saw the question in his eyes and nodded. He reached out and, taking her chin in his hand, gazed at her face, almost as if trying to memorize it. Slowly, gently his lips came down to meet hers. His hand snaked behind her neck, tilting her head upwards, and as their kiss deepened Irina's lips parted, allowing Jack's tongue to roam through her mouth. His groan, as she lightly sucked on his tongue caused her to break away, breathless. "Jack-,"  
  
"I know, I know," he grumbled, his breathing ragged. "If we don't stop now, I'll end up taking you here on the deck."  
  
"This isn't exactly easy for me either," she said with asperity.   
  
"Are we done talking about me?" Jack asked plaintively. "I've got some questions, too."  
  
"OK. Your turn."  
  
"What does the device do? That you're trying to get from Sloane?"  
  
Irina bit her lip. "Oh no, you don't," said Jack, seeing the hesitation on her face. "Tell me. Now."  
  
Irina took a deep breath. "You remember my telling you that the 47th chromosome needs to be activated before it becomes effective? Rambaldi called the device 'La Scintilla', Italian for 'The Spark'. It...activates the chromosome."  
  
"Your chromosome?" asked Jack, reeling.   
  
"Yes. The letter my grandfather left for me detailed the process for activation, if I so chose. What Rambaldi did not anticipate was that at his death his manuscripts and inventions would be viewed as curiosities and dispersed - some sold to collectors, others just lost. I've spent the past 15 years searching for 'La Scintilla'; when I escaped in Panama City, I found out that Arvin had it - one of the many artifacts he'd collected."  
  
"Why is it so important to Sydney?"  
  
"Because Sydney also has the chromosome, Jack. And while Sloane has not yet figured that out, it is only a matter of time. After all, the CIA already knows that her genetic profile is unusual. The enlarged heart is one of the manifestations of the presence of the gene. Sloane could be one manuscript away from putting all the pieces together. What do you think Sloane would do if he had both access to the chromosome and to the means to activate it?"  
  
Jack knew with certainty what Sloane would do. Quickly he blocked out the image of Sydney strapped down to a gurney in a medical lab somewhere, a human guinea pig. "So why didn't you just shoot Sloane?"  
  
"Because there will be other Sloanes. I couldn't take the risk that one of them might get to it first. Until I got the location from Sloane, I couldn't give him up."  
  
"And do you know where it is yet?  
  
"No, but I know where it will be in two days."  
  
Jack raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Rome. Where Sloane believes Rambaldi is currently living."  
  
"Why is Sloane going to Rambaldi?"  
  
"Because Sloane is convinced that Rambaldi conquered mortality. And Sloane wants to become immortal, but can't figure out how to do it himself. He knows 'La Scintilla' is part of the puzzle; he's bringing it to Rambaldi as a good faith gesture."  
  
Jack regarded Irina intently. "You've got a plan."  
  
"Yes," she agreed. "And I need your help." Irina quickly sketched the outline to Jack, who suggested a couple of refinements. Satisfied, he nodded his willingness to assist. "Where are you staying tonight?" she asked.  
  
Jack gave her the name of a small hotel on the outskirts of the city.  
  
"I'll bring you the things you need." Seeing Jack's eyes light up, she laughed. "No, Jack, I'm just dropping them off. It may be late. I have a lot to do over the next few days."  
  
Jack gave a growl of frustration. Reaching her hand up to his face, Irina gently stroked his cheek. "It's almost over," she said sympathetically.  
  
But Jack could see something else in her eyes. A haunted look. And he suddenly realized with dread that there was a question he hadn't asked. And even though they had come so far, still couldn't. 


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17  
  
Jack had planned to eat a late snack when he returned to the hotel, but found he wasn't very hungry. Snatches from their conversation played in his head - ...chromosome....La Scintilla...cell regeneration....Rambaldi. His mind reeled as he tried to absorb everything Irina had told him, tried to rework all the options, all the angles.  
  
He had not asked her, of course. What she was planning to do with 'La Scintilla' once she had it. Did she even know? And if she did, would she tell him the truth? Had she decided that her heritage would become her destiny? Not 'our destiny' he thought sourly to himself. It all made sickening sense - her headlong obsession for 15 years, her willingness to work with Sloane, despite the cost. Even her keeping him at arm's length. Perhaps she did have a conscience after all, and wouldn't sleep with him if she were planning to leave him again. And if she activated that chromosome - became 'immortal' - she would be leaving him as surely as she had done 20 years ago. Jack slammed down his suitcase and looked for something to break.  
  
It wouldn't change the plan. Irina had manipulated him into doing this for Sydney. It was still important to get the device for Sydney's sake, and he'd finally have his hands on Sloane. She'd just neglected to mention that she had a personal stake in the outcome as well. He lay down on the bed, exhausted and heartsick, searching for oblivion.  
  
**  
  
Snick. Having picked the lock, Irina quietly slid in the door of Jack's hotel room, and waited for his challenge. He had always been a light sleeper, particularly on missions. Surprised when there was no reaction, she waited for her eyes to adjust the darkness in the room before recognizing the problem. On the other side of the room, Jack tossed restlessly, tangled in his sheets, occasionally uttering a cry.  
  
Irina sighed and stepped closer, watching him carefully. A nightmare. She wondered how many he had had, how much sleep he was getting. No wonder he had looked tired. Carefully she deposited the manuscripts and artifacts she had promised him on the table by his bed. She had hoped to talk with him further, but didn't have the heart to wake him. He looked like he needed all the rest he could get.  
  
She turned to go, then paused with her hand on the doorknob, indecision slowing her progress. She was counting on him, she told herself. She needed to make sure he was well-rested and sharp. Quietly laughing at her attempts at rationalization, she turned back, quickly stripped off her clothes, and climbed into bed, careful not to disturb him. Gently she curled behind him and wrapped her arms around his chest, making sure not to hold his arms down. She'd found through long practice that restraining him when he was in the midst of one of these night terrors just panicked him more. Instead, she gently massaged his back and chest, trying to soothe the muscles tensed with fear. Slowly she felt him relax beneath her touch, heard his breathing slow, as he drifted off into dreamless sleep.   
  
Jack woke in the morning to sun streaming through the window. He yawned and stretched - he had slept soundly, and felt more refreshed than he had in weeks. He looked over to the table and saw with a start that Irina had left the items she promised. Why hadn't she woken him? He couldn't remember - suddenly suspicious, he looked more closely at the bed. Two long brunette hairs lay curled on the pillow next to his. 


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18  
  
'R-Day'. Irina smiled to herself. She had worked towards this day for 15 long years, since she had first glimpsed her grandfather's letter. Her motivations had shifted over time, but the intensity of the quest had not. Her preparations were complete, and she hoped Jack was ready too. She looked up as Sloane walked into the room, then frowned when she saw him accompanied by 4 of the mercenaries he had hired to protect him.  
  
"Is there a problem, Arvin?" she asked evenly.  
  
"Not that I am aware of, my dear. I'm ready to go. I thought you'd like some company while you remained here."  
  
"Remain here?" Irina seethed. "We're partners, Arvin. We're going together."  
  
"I don't think so, Irina. I find the security risks associated with you being together with Rambaldi and the artifacts...unacceptable. I'm sure you understand."  
  
"Understand? I've sacrificed everything to get to this point, Arvin. You bastard," she finished, as the guards drew their firearms and approached her, handcuffs in hand.  
  
"Sorry, Irina. Three's a crowd."  
  
**  
  
Sloane surveyed the villa, located in the middle of an olive grove on the outskirts of Rome. He had already seen it, of course, from satellite photos. Modest, but well situated. From a tactical perspective, easy to defend. Difficult for him to position support nearby. Not that it would be necessary. All of his natural adversaries were otherwise occupied, and Rambaldi would not be expecting his visit. He nodded to his two men and approached the entrance to the villa, carrying a leather case in his hand.  
  
He had given, as he always did, careful thought to the tenor of the meeting. He anticipated Rambaldi to be a recluse, not comfortable with large groups, and had intentionally limited his party, or at least his visible party, to only two other individuals. He expected that they would be dismissed before he and Rambaldi discussed anything substantial. The case in his hand was an important negotiating chip, demonstrating Sloane's understanding of what Rambaldi had to offer. He thought that Rambaldi would be reluctant at first, but then - he could not possibly grasp the wealth and power that Sloane would be offering him. No man would be able to withstand that for long.  
  
Sloane took a deep breath and knocked on the door, his face not betraying his anticipation. He waited - 3, 5, 10 seconds - and no response. Impatiently he knocked again, louder, and was rewarded by the sound of the slow shuffling of feet. The door slowly opened, revealing a wizened prune of a man, smiling to reveal a number of missing teeth. Sloane's heart sank. It had been foolish, of course, to have predetermined ideas about Rambaldi's appearance, but somehow Sloane had imagined someone more imposing than this. He gestured to one of his men, who asked in fluent Italian if he was Dante Fisorini, the name of the man in the database whose genetic code had matched the flower. It was with relief that Sloane saw the man cackle and shake his head, gesturing to the back of the house.  
  
Sloane followed the old man to the back of the villa, and down a flight of stairs to a cellar that extended the width of the house. The cellar was dimly lit with candles, and manuscripts and small machines of all shape and description littered the room. In the corner sat a large, white-haired man, hunched over a drawing. The candles behind him threw his face into shadow.  
  
The old man babbled rapidly in Italian to the white-haired man, who looked up slowly at his visitors, his eyes studying them carefully from beneath his long hair.  
  
Sloane began his introduction, in poorly accented Italian that he had learned for this purpose, only to be cut-off. "We can speak English, if you prefer," indicated the old man, with a strong Italian accent. "How may I be of service?  
  
"I presume I am speaking to Milo Rambaldi?" asked Sloane, watching his host's reaction carefully. He was not disappointed. Surprise, worry, and suspicion flashed across his host's face. "Do not be alarmed," assured Sloane. "I come as a friend, with a proposition that will benefit us both."  
  
"I doubt there is anything you can offer me that would be of interest," said the white-haired man dismissively.  
  
Sloane's eyes glittered. "I am willing to make a good-faith gesture, to indicate my interest in negotiations."  
  
The white-haired man did not look very interested. "Perhaps you should go."  
  
"If I were to offer you... 'La Scintilla'?"  
  
"How do you have possession of that?" he snapped.  
  
Sloane shrugged. "How I obtained it is of no particular interest. Be assured that I have it."  
  
The white-haired man flicked his eyes at Sloane's companions. Picking up the cue, Sloane turned to them and said, "Wait for me outside." The old man shuffled out with them.  
  
"Very well. Prove to me that you have 'La Scintilla' and we will talk."  
  
Sloane reached down to the case he had brought in with him, and laid it on the table. Keying in the password, the lock snapped open. Sloane opened the case with a flourish. The white-haired man gazed intently at the case's contents for a moment, then returned his gaze to Sloane. "I'm afraid you've been misinformed, signor. This machine is one of mine, yes. But not the one you claim. It does not appear that you can be of use to me. Good-bye," he said, and turned back to his diagram.  
  
"Wait," interjected Sloane. He pulled a walkie-talkie from his jacket pocket and spoke into it briefly. "My deepest apologies. I am sure you understand the need for caution. I have the device you seek, but needed to verify you were who you claimed. It is several miles away. It will be here shortly."  
  
The white-haired man waved him out of the cellar. "Return when you have it. I have work to do." He returned to his diagram without watching to see if Sloane left.  
  
Minutes later, Sloane returned, alone, with a different case. He cleared his throat, and white-haired man looked up once again. "Show me," he commanded. Reverently, Sloane opened the case for him to view. It was, indeed, 'La Scintilla', the white-haired man thought to himself.  
  
"I am willing to exchange this for certain services," Sloane purred.  
  
The white-haired man stretched himself to his full height, stepped out of the shadows, and spoke without a trace of accent, "I think you may have overestimated your negotiating position, Arvin."  
  
Stunned, Sloane stared at Jack Bristow, holding a gun aimed at his heart. 


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19  
  
"Jack?" asked Sloane incredulously, blanching.  
  
"Hello, Arvin. Fancy meeting you here."  
  
"Where's Rambaldi?" Sloane demanded.  
  
"Dead," Jack replied. "The closest you'll get to him is this." He reached up and removed his wig, tossing it to the floor.  
  
"Impossible," Sloane spat.  
  
Jack shrugged. "It doesn't really matter what you believe, Arvin."   
  
Sloane quickly regained his composure. "You're outgunned, Jack," he said confidently. "Put down that gun or you'll never leave here alive."  
  
"Really?" Jack reached into his robe and pulled out a radio with disdain. "How many?" he asked crisply. He listened to the response, then put the radio away. "23, Arvin. Not including the 4 you left back at your headquarters."  
  
Sloane's eyes flickered, then narrowed. "That bitch Derevko double-crossed me," he said through clenched teeth.  
  
"That would make the two of you about even for the day, then," replied Jack humorlessly. Welcome to the club, he thought cynically.  
  
"Jack, we've been friends for years. Surely you're not going to let it end like this."  
  
"No, you're right, Arvin." Jack watched Sloane visibly relax. "It won't end here. This ending is going to last the next 20-30 years of your life, in some forgotten prison cell, where you'll die powerless and penniless," Jack said with satisfaction.  
  
Jack caught the blaze of fury in Sloane's eyes, quickly masked. He watched expectantly as Sloane stepped forward, then pretended to stumble, and was not surprised to see the gun emerge in Sloane's hand. Casually Jack aimed and fired, shattering Sloane's shoulder. Sloane screamed as his gun fell to the floor, then crumpled in pain.  
  
"I'm not having a good day, Arvin. I'm not sure I'd try anything else."  
  
Jack stepped over and kicked Sloane's gun out of the way, as 3 armed men burst through the door, looking to Jack for orders. "He's all yours," he said with distaste.  
  
Jack turned to go, but paused at the door. "Ciao, Arvin." 


	20. Chapter 20

Irina sat impatiently, hands cuffed behind her back. Jack had been right, she thought with disgust. He had predicted that Arvin would double-cross her and leave her behind. It had been hours, and she had heard nothing. Where was he?  
  
She greeted the sound of shots being fired in the corridor with relief. When Jack finally strode into the room, she wanted to leap up and hug him. Except that she couldn't, of course. "Do you have the keys?" she demanded.  
  
"Yes," he said coldly, efficiently unlocking the cuffs.  
  
Irina massaged her wrists and looked up at him, eager with anticipation. Jack, she saw to her puzzlement, was standing back, watching her with hooded eyes. "Jack, is something wrong? What happened? Is it finished?"  
  
"Yes," he said bitterly, "I think it is."  
  
"Did you get Sloane?"  
  
"Yes. He's on his way to prison. With almost an army's worth surrounding him to make sure he ends up there."  
  
"'La Scintilla'?" she asked anxiously.  
  
"Safe. You were right. He did try to pass something else off as 'La Scintilla' first."  
  
"Safe? Where...is it?" asked Irina apprehensively.  
  
"I have it," Jack replied, watching Irina carefully.  
  
"Where?" asked Irina quickly, seeing he wasn't carrying anything. She swallowed. "Jack. I need you to give it to me. Please," she finished pleadingly.   
  
Jack felt sick. "Fine," he said flatly. "I'll meet you at the villa. In two hours." He turned on his heel and left as she watched, a bewildered expression on her face.  
  
**  
  
Irina paced back and forth in the large common room of the villa. Two sofas and a large coffee table graced the area in front of the fireplace. Several woven rugs were scattered across the tile floor. She had acquired the property several years ago, partly in anticipation of this final move, partly because she loved the view across the olive grove. She glanced at her watch. It had been 2-1/2 hours. Where was Jack?  
  
Jack stared despondently out the windshield of his car, parked outside the villa. He had been sitting there for 30 minutes, delaying the inevitable. He would rather, he acknowledged to himself, be walking headlong into a firefight than into this villa. He glanced over at the leather case in the front passenger seat with revulsion. Ruthlessly he suppressed the impulse to 'lose' it. She had given him Sloane; he would give her 'La Scintilla'. Immortality. What, after all, did he have to offer her as an alternative? With a heavy heart, he opened the door and headed inside.  
  
Irina turned and saw him standing silently in the doorway, leather case in his hand, face impassive. "Jack," she said, moving towards him, arms outstretched.  
  
He took a step back and held out the case. "Here. This belongs to you," he snapped.  
  
"Jack?" asked Irina, confused. His mouth was set in a grim line.  
  
"Take it," he commanded. Please don't, he silently begged.  
  
Giving him a curious glance, Irina reached out and took the leather case and set it gently on the table. Carefully she lifted the cover, and gazed inside, spellbound. This, then, was what she had searched for for so many years. She looked over at Jack, encouraging him to join her in appreciation of the precision of the device, the delicate dials and knobs.   
  
The stark pain in Jack's eyes, as they rested on La Scintilla, brought her up short. What in the world? And then, in a flash, she understood. Good God, he had believed she was going to use it on herself. And instead of hurling it off a tall building, he had brought it to her. For her to make her own decision. Spending the rest of their lives together or - immortality.  
  
"Jack," she breathed, willing him to look at her. With effort, he wrenched his gaze away from the case to look at Irina, his eyes once more blank. His jaw tightened as he braced himself to hear her explanation, her rationalization, for leaving him this final time.  
  
"Jack, when I first received Rambaldi's letter, I thought it was a sign. My life had been destroyed, and I was being offered a quest, a higher purpose. I was the chosen one. I would live forever. I would change the world."  
  
"Irina, don't," Jack ground out, taking another step back. He could bear anything but this, this pathetic fabric of self-delusion and excuses. He turned to go, to run, to bury himself away from ever feeling this way again. From ever feeling anything again.  
  
"Jack, you don't understand." She reached out and took his hand in hers, refusing to let go as he impatiently jerked to free himself. "I dedicated my life to this quest, and it still couldn't fill the hole that you and Sydney left. What I've learned over the past 15 years is that this is my heritage. It is not my destiny. Why would I choose an eternity of regret? 20 years," her voice caught in her throat, "has been more than enough."  
  
In one motion, Irina drew her gun. Jack stood nerveless, unable to react. She aimed and fired, emptying her gun. Into 'La Scintilla'. Not satisfied, she used her gun butt and smashed the device beyond recognition as Jack groped to understand her words.  
  
"Irina?" Jack tried to comprehend her words, what she had just done. "Irina, why-," he gestured awkwardly at the case, confused.  
  
"So that you'll never wake up wondering if I'm going to leave you. It's over, Jack."  
  
Jack stood stunned, as Irina stepped back and watched him expectantly. Patiently. And then in 2 strides Jack crossed the room to where she stood and crushed her in his arms, joyfully bringing his lips down to hers. 


	21. Epilogue Pt 1

Epilogue - Part 1  
  
Sydney waited anxiously in the Visitor Waiting Room at San Quentin prison. It had been a week, and today was the first day her father was allowed visitors. When her name was finally called, she moved into the visiting room and sat down at the table, separated from the prisoner side by a glass partition.  
  
She looked up as her father was escorted in, and scrutinized him carefully. He looked, she thought in surprise, more rested and relaxed than she had seen him in some time. He sat down at the table and they both picked up the phones.  
  
"Dad? How are you?"  
  
"Fine, sweetheart. I see that Vaughn released you."  
  
"He was afraid...that you wouldn't have the opportunity. Dad, you shouldn't have taken the risk."  
  
This was not a debate Jack wanted to participate in. "Any news?" he prompted, to switch the subject.  
  
"Oh! Yes, I meant to tell you right away. You'll never believe it. Mom captured Sloane and turned him over to the CIA."  
  
"Really?" her father drawled.  
  
Impervious, Sydney continued. "Yes, and she found evidence that Sloane had set you up. Devlin's arranged for you to be released tomorrow."  
  
Jack smiled broadly at that news. The food really was pretty bad.  
  
"Dad?" asked Sydney worriedly, suddenly noticing something she had missed earlier. "There are some bruises on your neck. Were you attacked?"  
  
**  
  
Jack straightened his tie, glanced around his office, and sighed. All of his possessions were sitting in FBI evidence boxes. It would take some work to unpack and rearrange everything the way he had had it. The only thing on his desk was a single-spaced letter from Kendall. He was resigning. For personal reasons. Good decision, thought Jack. He looked up as he heard a knock on the door.  
  
"Director Bristow? Uh, I guess you're Director again, right?" Marshall peered in through the door. "Welcome back, sir. I knew you'd never work for Sloane. Well, that is, except for the 15 years you worked for him at SD-6. Oh, I guess I kinda did too-"  
  
"Yes, Marshall?"  
  
"Um, I was wondering if you have the PDA I lent you. April Fools' Day is in a couple of days, and I'd like...,"  
  
Jack gestured to the boxes. "When I find it, I'll give it back."  
  
"Thank you, sir, and if you don't mind-,"  
  
"Good bye, Marshall."  
  
**  
  
"Director Bristow? Do you have a moment?" Jack looked up and sighed. It was Vaughn. There was something to be said for the peace and quiet of solitary.  
  
"Yes, Agent Vaughn?"  
  
Vaughn came in and closed the door behind him. "Sir, there are a couple of things I don't quite understand."  
  
"Curiosity killed the cat, Vaughn."  
  
"Yes sir," said Vaughn nervously. "But would you mind telling me why you drove back to Joint. Ops after I warned you they were going to arrest you?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"Yes, I would mind. Anything else?"  
  
Vaughn shifted uncomfortably, but plunged ahead. "It seems a little unusual that, in the middle of an FBI investigation, you would have been sequestered in solitary confinement where the interrogators had no access to you. I was just wondering....if you were somewhere else last week?"  
  
Jack glared at Vaughn. "What other vacation spot do you think they sent me to last week, *Agent* Vaughn? The secure facility in Hawaii?"  
  
Vaughn licked his lips. "I was thinking, sir, perhaps you were with Irina Derevko."  
  
"You've been reading too much fiction, Vaughn. Get out of my office." Jack smiled to himself as Vaughn backed out hastily. He was coming along nicely.  
  
**  
  
Jack's phone rang.  
  
"Bristow."  
  
"Jack. Glad to see you're back at work. The FBI will be issuing you a formal apology next week."  
  
"That's not really necessary, Ben."  
  
"Let me enjoy this, Jack. I'll be able to milk it for a while. But the real reason I called was that, as a result of Derevko's cooperation in Sloane's apprehension, it looks like we'll be able to cut the plea-bargain deal you recommended."  
  
"Good news, sir."  
  
"And seeing as you are the only person who knows how to contact her, I thought you'd want to hammer out the final details with Derevko in person." Jack could sense Devlin's smile over the phone.  
  
"Negotiations are likely to be delicate, sir. It could take several days."   
  
"I thought as much," said Devlin dryly. "Take all the time you need to, er, consummate the deal." 


	22. Epilogue Pt 2

Epilogue - Part 2  
  
The Okhtinskaya hotel was not on the tourist circuit, but instead catered primarily to Russian and East European businessmen. Jack checked in without incident, posing as a sales representative for a Bulgarian firm, and made his way to the 6th floor. Irina had said she would make contact with him upon arrival. Their time together several days prior had been necessarily short; a disproportionate amount of his flight time to Russia had been consumed considering the various ways she might 'make contact'. He picked up the phone, ordered room service, and lay down for a quick nap.   
  
Jack was awoken from a light doze by a knock on the door. "Obsluzhivanie Komnaty (Room service)," he heard.  
  
Quietly, Jack pulled his gun from under his pillow and made his way over to the door. Standing to one side, he turned the knob. "Vhodite (Come in)," he called in flawless Russian.  
  
A cart trundled into the room, followed by...Irina. In a room service uniform.  
  
"You ordered dinner, sir?" she said, continuing in Russian, loud enough to be heard in the hall. Then she winked.  
  
"Da," Jack choked, taking in Irina's disguise. "Why don't you set it up over there?" he said, pointing toward the small desk in the corner.   
  
Jack leaned against the wall and took in the vision of his wife, in a room service outfit that appeared to be two sizes too small, laying out his dinner. Breathe, he told himself.  
  
"I brought you dessert, sir. Compliments of the house." 'Dessert' was a banana covered in chocolate sauce and whipped cream. Sweat started trickling down Jack's back.  
  
"Is there anything else you want, sir?" asked Irina, grinning .  
  
Jack closed his eyes and swallowed. "N-nyet," he said, his throat dry. "Thank you."  
  
Irina left pushing the cart, hips swaying. "I'll be back later," she called over her shoulder. "To pick up your tray," she added.  
  
Weakly Jack swung the door behind her and looked at his dinner. He wasn't that hungry any more.   
  
**  
  
Snick. Jack was instantly awakened by the soft sound of the latch to his window. As he groped for his gun, his eye caught the glow of the clock next to the bed. 3am. His eyes rapidly adjusting to the dim light, he picked out a shape moving across the room. "Ostanovites' (Freeze)!" he barked, leveling the gun at the shape.  
  
"Oh, we're playing that game, are we?" Irina smirked.   
  
Jack sighed in exasperation and reached for the light.   
  
"What are you doing?" he asked, noticing that she was dressed head to toe in black. And had climbed in through his window.  
  
"Just tidying up a few loose ends," said Irina innocently.  
  
"You weren't breaking any more laws, were you?" said Jack with a long-suffering look. "I've just finished your plea deal; I'm not sure I can add anything else to it."  
  
Irina looked thoughtful. "I don't think I broke any *American* laws," she replied honestly. "I just needed to, er, 'borrow' something from another hotel guest."  
  
Jack rolled his eyes. "I'm having a little difficulty imagining your transition back to a boring domestic life."  
  
"Good. Because I promise you," her eyes twinkled, "it would never be boring."  
  
"Come here," he said, patting the bed next to him.  
  
Irina crossed the room gracefully and sat on the bed next to Jack. "You know, while you're here, you could practice your Russian," she purred, caressing his chest.  
  
"I don't know," demurred Jack. "I'm a little rusty. How do you say 'Take off all your clothes'?"  
  
Irina's eyes darkened. "Snizite vsju vashu odezhdu," she replied.  
  
"Snizite vsju vashu odezhdu," said Jack, in a low voice. Irina sucked her breath in quickly, then hastily complied.  
  
"How about, 'You're beautiful'?"  
  
Irina swallowed. "Ti takAya krasIvaya."  
  
"Ti takAya krasIvaya," Jack said softly, pulling her down next to him in the bed. He lightly traced her face with his fingers. "Pocelujte menja (kiss me)," he commanded.  
  
Irina looked at him suspiciously. "I thought you were rusty?"  
  
"It's all coming back to me now," Jack grinned.  
  
**  
  
"Jack?"  
  
"Hmmm?" he asked contentedly.  
  
"I'll be here, you know. In the morning. When you wake up."  
  
"Ja znaju. No ja ne planiroval spat' (I know. But I wasn't planning on sleeping)."  
  
*****fin***** 


End file.
